1. The person who cares less has all the power. Nobody wants to be the one who’s more interested.

2. Because we want to show how cavalier and blasé we can be to the other person, little psychological games like ‘Intentionally Take Hours Or Days To Text Back’ will happen. They aren’t fun.

3. A person being carefree because they have zero interest in you looks exactly like a person being carefree because they think you’re amazing & are making a conscious effort to play it cool. Good luck deciphering between the two.

4. Making phone calls is a dying art. Chances are, most of your relationship’s communication will happen via text, which is the most detached, impersonal form of interaction. Get familiar with those emoticon options.

5. Set plans are dead. People have options and up-to-the-minute updates on their friends (or other potential romantic interests) whereabouts…

Dear, Bruce, I tried searching online for a way to send you this letter but my results came up with multiple addresses and I honestly didn’t know which one is which so instead I am writing this letter through this site in hope that you will come across of it and read it.

I can’t remember a moment where indirectly you weren’t present in my life. Ever since I can remember I have always liked your movies, all the action packed drama and every character you’ve ever played. I know, you probably read this everyday ( If you do read your fan mail which I hope you do) but I don’t mean to brag about it really, nor to tell you I’m your number one fan because, we all claim to be so anyway. I’ve always had some sort of fixated admiration towards you, not only as an actor, but as a person, I’ve always thought of you like a great person with a tremendous heart and very passionate soul. A great father above all and I guess a part of me admires that of you because I pictured my father to be like you someday; a hero. Yes, you were a hero to me when I was a child, I wasn’t much into superman, spiderman or any of those comic heroes shown on tv shows and on magazines, you were my hero then and I always wanted my dad to be like you. In my head I would believe it so even though truly he never was. My dad’s life was drinking and still is after 20 years and well I guess that at a young age I understood he could never be you, he could never be my hero, but you could and you would always be.

I can’t remember a movie I didn’t miss that you weren’t in it and if I did, it’s on my to watch list so no worries I’m pretty sure I’ll watch them soon enough. Above all the movies I’ve watched of you my favorites have been The Fifth Element and Live Free or Die Hard. You did great in those movies, and working with Milla, that has been a very memorable thing to me because I adore her work and her personality as well as yours.

The thing is Mr. Willis, that once I grew up I found out that you were more than a hero to me, you were an idol, someone I felt devoted to in some way and I still don’t know why. You are one of the people I’d love to sit down and talk to just for a little while about any subject that’s brought to the table, just a small chat would suffice this strong devotion of knowing you. I hope I don’t sound creepy or anything, I swear I don’t mean to, because above all I respect you very much and even though I do find you immensely attractive, I respect you and by all means would never mean anything more than what I am trying to say; which is Mr. Willis, that I would love, in fact appreciate to meet you and I know these petitions are mailed to you very often and I do not mean for you to make an exception but I would cherish it if you would grant me the pleasure of at least seeing you even if just for a brief moment, I don’t want an autograph and if I can’t take a picture with you it doesn’t really matter as long as I can see you there, in front of me. That would be a memory I shall cherish forever, a memory I would recall every time my life seemed dark and bitter, I’d think of that memory when I met you and all my troubles would fade away because then I’d remember that you are still a hero and far even more than that, an Idol, a person I respect and admire so much, and had the great and marvelous opportunity to meet even if it was just for a few seconds.

I do hope this letter reaches you and that you can at least be the one to read it and not your representatives or any of those people. Like I said I don’t mean for you to take consideration of my petition but I would love to meet you, even if just for a second, nothing more. That’s all I could ever want from such a great and talented man as yourself. I wish you the best in your personal and professional life as well, I hope you continue on your career, participating in great movies and making us all happy inside.

Yes, I know, my wishlist is a little past time but still I don’t care. I need to write it down.

I’ve been asking myself constantly what would I want for such an occasion and to be honest, there’s plenty of things that I want but only a few of them do I really need. I always leads to that doesn’t it, we always want things we actually don’t need at all but, oh well. I would like to have a better life, have my own things, make my own way, meet some friends that actually deserve to have that title written beside their name in a postcard, meet a guy that can change my life for good, have a good job, get a car, travel the world, go places I’ve never go to before but most of all have the health, strength and will to pursue all these wishes. Yet I didn’t ask all of this for Christmas instead I asked for other things, things that would mean the world to me and that I would forever cherish deep in my heart.

Now we all have someone or someones we idol, appreciate or admire for whichever reason; for their music, their talents, experiences, voice and self-expression, just like I do but my problem is I admire and respect so many people I don’t even know where to start! Wait! I do.
Throughout my life the only way I’ve gotten myself back up from the ground and fast has been with music. I’ve come across a great deal of artist that I dare say somehow read my mind and wrote those precious lines with me in their thoughts and I will forever be indebted to them for such a grateful thing. Even for this Christmas which to me has been the worse of them all ( my parents separation, having to be the adult in this thing which isn’t even mine to be burdened by it, still single, no friends and worse of all no gifts except for the ones I bought for myself. Yay me!) music has been there for me to give me the courage and strength, to give me the power to get back on my feet and move on. I have to thank them all for it because if it hadn’t been for the music I don’t know what would’ve happened to me.

To start off my wish list, I really don’t ask for anything material, not a car, or money or a boyfriend really, this is more of a emotional/personal wish and desire to soothe my soul in some way. Like I mentioned before, I’ve found very talented artist throughout the road of discovery in music. One of them has been Corey Taylor. Personally at first I thought, okay another guy who sings pretty good in a metal/hardcore band, sure why not but when I actually started to read the lyrics and learn a little bit about him I said dammit, what was I thinking! This man is a fucking God! The deepest songs he ever performed in either Slipknot or Stone Sour were the ones that clawed my heart out and devoured it. Vermillion pt.2 was by then my ultimate favorite and it still is, the meaning it holds for me and what it has done to me will never be removed or forgotten. Snuff, now this song has my whole life written in it and every time I listen to it, something new comes out. It’s a song I don’t tire of listening and I’d love to see him perform it just once. Be there and look at him, hear his voice, not like through headphones or the radio but live, and be there to feel it and live it with him. It would be an honor for me to be there and hear him perform.

Another one of my Gods ( and this is basically because he has a huge talent) is ex- KSE performer, Howard Jones. I came across him at a very young age, a friend of mine introduced this band to be and I felt it click.v End of heartache was my anthem by them and when it came out on Resident evil’s credits I felt my heart skip a beat. Yea sure another hardcore/metal band, but this guy has such an amazing voice! How he can transform a blood-scream into a beautiful deep voice with a subtle treble in it. My God, he became an addiction, to hear his voice to listen to every word and every lyric had a meaning to me ( if it didn’t I wouldn’t have him mentioned here) even the songs I didn’t like so much I’d hear them just to hear his voice and imagine myself seeing them play even if from afar only to have it crushed by the news that he is no longer in the band. Leech is okay but it takes the difference from KSE to any other band, it makes it a common one. That’s why I would just like to meet Howard, he doesn’t have to perform for me just sit and talk to me, maybe have a cup of coffee or a few beers and just talk, nothing more really. He’s just someone I’d like to chat with and grow some sort of connection. Same thing happens with Marilyn Manson, I mean sure he seems quite… odd at times and very frightening at others but once I heard him speak about the documentary bowling for columbine I knew that looks were deceiving and that I had to meet him sit and talk to him about everything and if he ever made a movement I would follow him because he has a sense of thinking outside the box not having these margins and obligations. Now this guy is someone to have a deep meaningful conversation with. Someone to just talk about the unspeakable and I’d once again be honored to have this if it ever came to happen.

These are my wishes, to meet these three extraordinary men that have somehow given me hope and strength without even knowing them personally or they even knowing I exist.

Sleep is getting at me but these thoughts, these shattered voices in my head won’t let me concentrate, they won’t let me sleep at all. I worry too much and then I don’t worry at all and it’s a mess. God, I’m such a mess. Cold nights with loneliness. No one to talk to, no one to share a cup of coffee with, no one to snuggle with, no one to tell you how much they care. The more I think about it, the more I hate this season. Cold with cold just doesn’t feel right at least when it’s warm there’s a fighting chance but now there’s no chance at winning,much less surviving this season without some warmth.

I tried loving myself and it led me to be someone I couldn’t recognize in the mirror so it comes down to the question of what do I deserve… which of course, has no defined answer. It’s like you watch the world move on but you are just sitting there watching, not moving, not doing anything to make the world move for you so it moves around you. Friends disappear throughout time and what is left of this is just plain emptiness and that vacant feeling inside your chest telling you how awful it must be to find yourself all alone in such a horrifying world like the one we live in. It’s a constant soap opera of someone else’s life except yours, you’re just an extra that ends up either dead or gone and that’s all you’ll ever be to this world, nothing more….

You can’t expect anything at all because it always leads you to dissapointment and some sort of remorse that builds up on the what if and the at least I tried. You try to incorporate yourself in a decent social life, you try talking to people but what comes out of their mouths is a resemblance of how small of a brain they possess Their knowledge is so small it scares you to even imagine how they’ve gotten so far. Online dating is just as worse, old men hitting on younger girls, guys the perfect age acting like dogs. There’s no more courtesy, no more courtship, no more beauty in life. It’s all in black and red, bruises and blood, cascading down the road I try not to cross so frequently but when you have the world pointing at you and hitting against you, what can you do but follow the current? Fighting would be suicide and it wouldn’t be a decision that I would make, it would be something I was pushed into doing.

Nothing is no longer pure and beautiful, everything is corrupted and what ever may be left as pure and worthy has somehow by someone or something , began to be corrupted. We are puppets in a huge puppet show, doing the orders of others and yet we call ourselves free. There is no freedom, it’s just a word to cover up the fact the we are imprisoned with certain privileges, but we were never free and the only way to be so is to never exist, even death is an imprisonment. We cycle our souls into dark holes of mysterious events such as life and death, and we question our existence putting up names and following up words from a book that was written by men who say they lived with a God, there’s no proof , just words, vacant words that are constantly changed and undefined. One tells you something and the other contradicts it, but we live in this world believing we are not alone just to feel that certain gratification that there will not be penance after death and that death will be a sweet slumber, painless and white, all white because white evokes peace, yet death is always presented as black. If there is a God he’s an evil son of a bitch giving you a period of life to make it your own yet having to deal with fate and destiny and never choosing the right path, calling this free will when the obstacles presented lead you away no matter how hard you fight or evade them.

Then love, always choosing the one you’re meant to ignore and ignoring the one you were meant to choose. We fall too quickly and let go too fast because it’s all sexually driven, there is no such thing as love, it’s just that instinct of imprisoning someone to your own commands and doing it so in the name of love. Yet we need it, we yearn it, it’s asphyxiating touch, it’s bittersweet travel, the pushing and pulling , the drawing out and drawing in. We need it because we need to feel love, we were taught to be loved, to need that certain attention to feel unique because our mother’s needed it and so do we their children. So we think we can choose right, make up for the wrongs our parents once did, break the cycle and release the chains that bind you from repeating the same story all over again in an endless chain reaction and we end up choosing the same path because life is predestined, everything is set out for you, you are just given the thought that you can choose a different road to college today but in truth they already know your move ( and as for they, I’m talking about this non-existent God that loves you so damn much) If there is a heaven and a hell I’m pretty sure it’s not above or below us but right here were we’re standing and it’s called life. So we believe because among us lies other supernatural entities and we obviously think this is a doing of God, but we never leave this place, we cycle souls and bodies throughout time, how would you know things you never read, learned or heard before? How would you explain the certain instinct you get when something’s gonna happen and when someone is right or wrong to be around you? There is no freedom, there is no point in living a life that has been predestined for you, but there’s no point in suicide either, they are both worthless but I’ve learn that while you are in hell you gotta burn it up a little more right before you’re outta there. So enjoy it, live the predestined life thinking you chose the path and have a ball…

To be honest, I don’t know how to begin this, um, thoughtful writing. I’ve been rummaging through my brain and all these topics and voices speaking out loud trying to decide of what to embark this write with. I can’t seem to decide between loneliness or love. Ironic, isn’t it? Well, I’ll start with love. For certain reasons I’ve been having this thought of love in my head quite a while. I guess I would be blaming this unexpected thought to a guy, obviously. Before we get down to who this guy is and how it happen I should let something clear about myself; I, for the most part, choose the awful guy. Don’t ask why, I don’t know. I think it’s in my genes, but then again don’t we ALL choose the awful guy. I think we women have a complex of being wonder woman or something in-between incest and hero. It’s like we want to nurture the guy that obviously needs more than nurturing, but we believe ( or I believe) that I can somehow, with magical powers I never knew I could possibly have, fix him. Make him wake up the next day and BAM! all done, no more hurting our feelings, no more unfaithfulness, no more out of control behavior, no more using us as sex toys, but let’s face it, we are not fucking super heroes and I’m pretty that even if we were, we couldn’t fix it anyway. I know, who says they need any fixing, right?

My point is, women are complicated and stupid ( and I know this for a fact because, guess what, I am a fucking woman! Awesome, not?) we say we want a nice guy who treats us right and would never hurt us and he’s standing right next to you holding your hair so you don’t get it covered with all the vomit coming out of your mouth. Yes, we are like that, we see bright lights and neon signs when we see a guy that has a label in his forehead that says “DON’T DATE ME, I’M DEFINITELY NOT WHAT YOU ARE LOOKING FOR AND THEREFORE NOT WORTH YOUR TIME” but instead we see “OMG, HE’S TOTALLY DANGEROUS AND HOT… MMMM… DANGEROUS AND HOT…”

Okay, okay maybe not like that but yeah, we get attracted to danger quite often, why? I don’t know, my theory is we like the pain. We like to feel unloved and unwanted, we yearn it more than the fact that we want love and attention. I’ts out own deprivation of the one thing we’ve been looking endlessly and have been having right in our face all this time, yes my friend, the guy/ girl you got zoned. Let me tell you why this usually happens and please don’t tell me otherwise.
Since birth, our mothers and fathers have taught us to find someone perfect to their eyes, or, as my own mother says, someone who could give me what my father never gave her. Our mothers tell us to look for guys that could give us what they promise and we create this mental profile ( like we’re some sort of specialists in profiling) and we create this, this Adonis, this marvelous creature that beats any creature Michelangelo ever created. It’s the very image of the one thing we’ll never find and if we do, there’s always a part missing and it’s usually the one that matters, brain and/or heart or maybe both and that would be sad, so very fucking sad.

Guys, the guys that girls usually want, that guy that can give you the world if you asked, those guys go through almost the same. Sometimes one of the parents ( either mom or dad) give them a thought, a piece of the puzzle for them to start drawing out strings of what they want, and they think at first, they’d settle for a smart girl but as soon as puberty starts BOOM! who cares about a sweet, smart girl? I want one with a big ass and gigantic boobs where I can drown myself in, oh and the hourglass figure like Kim Kardashian ( God, I hope that’s the first and last time I go to such resources as those ridiculous girls). So, right after puberty and all the hormones are somehow, stable, the mind kicks in and this guy searched for the two things quite impossible to find a gorgeous, smart girl. Oh yes, I know what you’ll say, there are plenty of those but have you forgotten what I just said? Usually something’s missing and I bet my sorry ass in this one, in girls is mostly the heart. Sure there are smart beautiful women, I’ve met a few, but they don’t have hearts. They use and abuse nice guys like the ones common girls look for.

So it’s a constant chain of unfortunate events for all of us, I shall illustrate it for you:

Yes, the good guy/girl is a forever alone…

It’s a fact, this happens every day and that’s why I bring forward the subject, because I think that I finally met a good guy that,apparently is after someone who is either blind or a bitch that can’t notice how good he is. The bad news? I can’t even have the guts to tell him anything because I think, what’s the point of laying it all out? Sure I’d take the weight off my shoulders, but another heavier one would then occupy it’s vacant space, the heavy weight of knowing he knows and that he will now ignore me and think of me as someone below his expectatives or, I could be wrong, but I’m usually never wrong, so I won’t take my chances on a guy that I met at economic assistance, who played the yawing card on a stranger to start a conversation and who could, if interested, play the same trick again. Nah, I’ll pass.

I couldn’t stand the rejection anymore and even if there was the smallest, tiniest possibility for him to like me as much as I like him, I bet he’d choose the heartless gal over the caring girl, whether he would say otherwise, he would. Yet here I am questioning myself whether to try or not and not finding a way how to do so. I guess I’ll go to bed once again with the same question, should I or shouldn’t I?

It’s one of those nights were you can’t help but cry your heart out and you just want to claw out that awful feeling inside your chest that keeps digging up, looking for more reasons why to cry when you just want it to stop. You need release but you never learned how to express yourself, you were always deprived of being you that now you start thinking, maybe I have an identity problem, maybe I need therapy but don’t have the money to afford it nor the time. You tried using someone, someone you loved and cared for as the shelter from the crumbling debris that you call life, but I already know how it ends, the savior gets fucked and the one in need of saving gets lost and more confused.

So now you begin to wonder, why me? Why do I have to be miserable? Why do I have to pay for the mistakes of others, if that is not my cross to bear? Why can’t I break free if I’m doing everything opposite to the chain of my historical family tree? Why does it have to be me? Sure I made a few mistakes, no less no more than others have, I’m sure. Can’t say I regret them but I sure as hell did learn from them, so why the constant whipping and humiliation? Am I not a good person? Haven’t I been nice to others and honest above it all? Doesn’t that count for it at all?

Twenty years of living misery and still going for the long run, still aiming high and never giving up, well not twenty years, I can’t remember much of my childhood, only fragments and shattered memories that seem either too real or too fake. I can’t remember a moment where I was happy and if there was such a moment, clearly it was so brief I can’t even recall it. I think that even at the age of ignorance I was conscious of my scarred life, because all I can remember of my childhood was being constantly bullied and molested by family members and even neighbors. All my life I’ve been submitted to all of this humiliation and pain that I just couldn’t get out of and now enjoy having, because if I can’t have a little pain, even just a pinch I forget I’m human and imperfect.

Call it what you want really, I could care less. I’m not writing this for your entertainment, it’s much more of my way to deal with things since therapy doesn’t do shit for me. My issues have roots and have ends, they’re called family and the only way I can set myself free is by ripping those roots out and throwing them aside but unfortunately it seems I will forever be in a perpetual amendment with this dysfunctional place called home.

Even as a child I could tell how horrible my life was. A drunk- no, drunk doesn’t even begin to cover it- an alcoholic father who cares less about his family than he does to his buddies. A workaholic mother who complains about her shitty life when the choice of this life was obviously hers, just so that people could pity her and give her an appraisal her mother never gave her. Yes, even my parents have parental issues, my father was abandoned by his mother when he was barely six and even to this day where he is 46 he hasn’t gotten over it yet. My mother “deals” with the fact that her mother never sees her as a priority and only humiliates her every chance she gets but my mother’s will to win her mother even just for one day pushes her on to submit to this certain amount of bullshit criticism that she has no reason why to stand for. Both abandoned by one of their parents, growing up with the other parent who was a very strict parent only to rebel at the old age of 30/ 26.

So,what did their rebellion costs them? Their freedom because after that I came along and I could say for my mother ( even though she never actually has said so) that I pretty much fucked up her life. She constantly says that if she could back time she wouldn’t have gotten pregnant or married, she would’ve pursued a better life. And yet I can’t get over the fact that you CAN pursue a better life at any moment you please, you could’ve left everything and gone and done your life, trust me, I would’ve thanked you for it, maybe then I would’ve have been so miserable, but things didn’t turn that way, unfortunately.

So here I’m sitting in my sofa, looking at my drunken father trying to keep his mouth open so he can eat some food to lower down the alcohol in his system. It’s 12:51 and I can’t seem to get any sleep, my mind just keeps rummaging these words and thoughts that I can’t seem to pen down because every time I pick up the pen and a piece of paper, the thought disappears and I forget what I’m doing or what I want to talk about.

I hate myself, is this kind of self-loathing because I know I could be so much better but I feel so uptight, like I am caged in my own little misery that I can’t find the will to do it. I can’t get out and it makes me anxious, it exasperates me so much, to see others come out and about while I’m still stuck here. It provokes some sort of envy and wrath and desire to kill them all and send the straight to hell because they sure as hell don’t deserve what they are receiving, I mean, what have they done so good to deserve such a pretty life? All these whores, assholes, jerks, abusers, liars, scumbags get all the happy life and the good guys just get fucked up and a front row seat to the show of their sad and pitiful lives, why!? Why the fuck should I put up with it? Why should it? Why them? Does it mean I have to be a whore to get a happy ending? Really?

I realize that right now I’m pretty much talking shit, not really saying anything or maybe from the beginning of this, whatever this is I’ve only been writing shit but you have to understand I don’t know how to express myself properly because I shied away any positive affection from me, all I bore is negativity and I guess that’s why I’m so miserable, because I’m in comfort when I am miserable. It’s by being miserable that nobody hurts you, nothing bothers you more than the weight you carry on your shoulders, that weight that digs onto your skin heaving you down from the very moment you wake up from that bed and wish that you could never wake up again. That endless depression and pretending to be fine when in truth you just want to rip yourself apart and dissipate, be someone else or not be anyone at all.

I deal with that every fucking day and don’t get me wrong, I know what I’m dealing with. I don’t need a shrink to tell me I have mayor depressive issues, I know. I’ve read enough from psychology to know it and for some reason it is what I am studying to be which, by the way, is not really good enough for anyone around me. No support only arguments on how expensive and useless it is and how I don’t find a job to pay for my own college studies. I’ve tried, if there is a God he surely knows I’ve tried to get a stable job but I’m not attractive enough or dumb enough to be hired for. I believe that is the new policy of getting a good job I can actually develop myself in, but they’re already taken by the less efficient and retarded girls that apparently only eat makeup and air and some much oxygen has gotten into their brains causing them brain damage and/or a dead brain.

I guess I’m tired and bored of this pointless and endless battle against all odds and myself. I can’t fight something I don’t even recognize, something I don’t know how to defeat. It’s like hitting myself against the wall because I don’t know how to turn the wheel. My eyes are tired now, probably red from all the crying and man what I’d give now for a damn cigarette. Why the hell did I stop smoking? It was the only thing that kept me in control of my panic/anxiety attacks. Pills worked just fine too, as long as I wasn’t close to any stairs that I may trip and fall through. Prozac makes me sleepy, and it’s amazing how it slows everything for you, how your thoughts disappear and that tiny voice in the back of your head becomes obsolete, it’s almost as if for once you knew your direction, what you’re doing, where you’re heading, who’s real and who’s not but when the pill wears off you wake from a reverie and hit yourself with the cold and hard cement called reality. The reality that one day you’re going to have to face without dosing on pills or getting high as a kite. I went through that and then I changed, turned into the one cold-hearted bitch I planned to remain being for eternity but as things modify and “change”( though is not an appropriate term for a human being because change implies destroying all from the very root, meaning you’d have to re-born to be considered a changed person, and no, changing you sex doesn’t apply as a term for this neither does having cosmetic surgery unless you change your entire face). I wanted nothing more than to change, to wake up one day in the middle of nowhere, a whole new country, with no conscience or memory and from then on start a new life and to never remember the old one. I wanted to remain like that, cold, bitter, heartless, in other words I wanted to be a bitch, but I was already one, all I did was deprive myself from feeling anything whatsoever, even sadness. There was no such thing for me, no sadness, no pain, no love and I was happy like that, not caring and not feeling. I fucked whomever I wanted without giving two fucks about it, I broke hearts without thinking it twice, I tore apart friendships tat need to be torn apart, I spoke the awful truth to many people that even though I did love, in some twisted way I hated all the same. I never lifted my punch against anyone because words wounded them more than a mere punch in the face and that worked for me like a charm. I’d call off girls who bullied me and I’d laugh in their faces when they’d pass me by with their baby carriages and ugly faces and bodies. How stretched and used they looked and hooked on pills that made them think they looked better. I was evil and I loved every second of it because for once I wasn’t a pawn anymore, I was a queen, a queen everyone respected or feared and I loved it. I loved it more than I have ever thought of. Being feared was such a rush of power that defeated being loved so I never really looked forward to it until now.

You see, Nietzsche said it once, if you gaze too long into the abyss, the abyss looks back at you, so I guess way more than I thought I could and all these feelings I’d restricted, weren’t there anymore. I forgot how to express gratitude and my manners were mostly pretended because I forgot it all, like I had deleted all these important files from my hard drive and never saved a copy of them somewhere. I couldn’t feel sympathy, love, affection, empathy, I couldn’t feel anything at all, just pain, an excruciating pain that has been devouring me ever since. The problem is that I don’t know how to defeat it, I don’t know how to face it because I’m afraid, afraid of feeling and getting hurt because apparently that is my punishment and I know what you’re thinking, everyone goes through that, sure, you’re right; but I’m not everyone and my case is a daily issue of it. I can’t even talk to a decent guy anymore, I start to stutter and I never make eye contact unless I’m in my ovulating days and I’m really horny and then all I do is stare I never say a word.

Do you have any idea how frustrating that is? To meet someone who looks promising and every time you think you might make a move, you stop there frozen without any words to speak and your brain is telling you say something, but you honestly can’t. You just fucking can’t. It’s horrifying and not to mention humiliating. To have everyone look at your like an outcast and realize you really are one in a sea of idiots and air headed people whose function is to decorate rooms and hallways.

To be honest I’ve cried myself to getting tired but I still don’t feel relief, I still don’t feel satisfied, I want more, I crave more but the options I have don’t seem promising or worth the shot. So I guess I’ll be sitting in the bleachers waiting under rain and sun for someone worth my time to notice me, to really show interest in this fucked up character that is named V, and ,love her and comfort her and above all, be there for her, not to be her superman, but just to be the lover and friend she’s been looking and needing all along.